She Falls Asleep
by mmPeachyMoosemm
Summary: There really was no best case scenario for leaving deep cover, Jemma mused as she sat in an empty room with Bakshi. Dark Alternate ending to Simmons' time in Hydra. Set after ep. 2 x 3 (Making Friends and Influencing People) and before ep. 2 x 5 (A Hen in the Wolf House).
1. Lose-Lose

**A/N I decided that I was too inspired after finishing my drabble, "Stiff," to just let this story go! Simmons' time in Hydra could have ended really terribly: this is the story about what it might have looked like if it had. This is a multi-chapter fic with appearances by every major character in SHIELD. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing! **

**Important note:****This story takes place after ep. 2 x 3 (Making Friends and Influencing People) and before ep. 2 x 5 (A Hen in the Wolf House). To give you some of the setting, the team knows about Jemma's undercover work, Raina is not in the picture, Skye knows naught of her father or of Coulson's scribbly-scrabbly, and Coulson and Skye are kind of at odds. I hope that gives some important background!**

**Many huuuuuge thanks to sapphireswimming, my good buddy, for inspiring me to continue and offering feedback every step of the way! I love you, buddy!**

Jemma's heart thudded in her chest. She prayed silently that she was alone in the conference room of Hydra head quarters, save the presence of Bakshi, to be advanced in clearance. There was no safe alternative to why she had, for a third time, been pulled suddenly from her research by two stoic Hydra guards.

As she had been led down the hallway flanked by these well-trained, well-armed men, Jemma had considered again that Coulson and May must have either been distressingly desperate or insane when they determined that she was fit for undercover. More than that, _deep cover_. Jemma could not lie convincingly even on petty matters and she had no useful self-defense skills that would be effective against highly-trained ex-SHIELD agents. And yet she had trusted their judgment and dove straight in.

And why? Jemma mused, not for the first time, that there was no safe way to end an undercover operation. This thought and various scenarios played through her head each night as she tried to sleep. What was the best case an operative could imagine? Was there ever a sparkling moment when one could say no more useful information could be gathered and it was now time to pack up and head home? No, every new discovery would just instill the further need to stay undercover. There would always be more. Until she was discovered. And then she would die a horrific death, or else be brainwashed and used against her friends.

Which brought Jemma to another heart-stopping encounter with Bakshi. Bakshi's eyes were difficult to read in the low light of the conference room; although, there was the possibility that his expression was just so well schooled that Jemma might not have been able to read him even if the lighting had been better.

"Agent Simmons," Bakshi spoke in a gentle, subtle tone that did nothing to ease Simmons' tension. "You have done superb research since you joined Hydra. You see things in a way that even our other top researchers in the fields of Biology and Bio-Chemistry cannot seem to grasp, particularly when it comes to your insights on alien biology."

Jemma quickly nodded and murmured her thanks for the compliment.

Bakshi continued, not noting Jemma's response. "That said, my next decision was a difficult one. Part of me was eager to change your loyalties so that we could keep your skills." Jemma's heart froze. "But Whitehall turned me to the belief that there can always be another scientist, but there will not always be another chance to teach SHIELD a lesson."

Jemma opened her mouth to assure him that she was thoroughly confused, she was loyal to Hydra, but Bakshi raised a hand to silence her. His eyes glinted, but his face remained calm and his voice, eerily soothing. "There is no need, Agent Simmons, to defend yourself at the current time. We have discovered your true loyalties. All that is left is to use you wantonly as a message to SHIELD."

Jemma was petrified and left helpless by the straightforwardness of Bakshi's demeanor. They still remained the only two in the room, but Jemma could feel the smothering certainty that she could not run or fight. She was truly lying in the belly of the beast. Coulson would not know that she was compromised. No help was coming.

Feebly, quietly, but determinedly, Jemma declared, "I will tell you nothing of SHIELD."

A deep, almost cheerful voice from behind her said, "Oh, there is no need for that. I'm not seeking information. When I drain the last breath from you, you will be sobbing out everything you know, but there is nothing I seek. I need nothing more than the visceral pleasure of destroying you."

Bakshi glanced over Jemma's shoulder at Whitehall. "As I said, Agent Simmons, Doctor Whitehall can be very convincing when he knows what he wants."

**A/N I didn't think it was necessary to explain how Simmons' cover was blown. Honestly, Hydra is big, evil, and smart. I really felt like it wouldn't be too difficult for them to figure out Simmons' loyalties, just using all the notes that Morse makes in "Hen in the Wolf House." So you and I will just never know! However, this fic takes place before "Hen in the Wolf House," so Raina is not anywhere on the scene – it wasn't her!**


	2. She Falls Asleep

**A/N Hmm … I have nothing to tell you in advance. Soooo, go for it!**

Morse had a sick feeling in her gut as she made her way from her office to Daniel Whitehall's laboratory. Her belongings, a small duffel of clothing and a larger duffel packed with a pristine sniper rifle, a variety of handguns, and several specialized silencers, were left on the floor. The call to report to Whitehall's office had come while she was still in airspace over Yemen after a security operation in Boosaaso. There wasn't even time upon arrival to do her usual scan of the laboratory security cameras to visually see that Agent Simmons was still safe.

The feeling that something had gone wrong was always present when Morse was sent out of the country for a Hydra mission. In those times she was leaving Agent Simmons without backup, which was ultimately her first priority being buried in Hydra. Unfortunately, there was no way to avoid the missions that were a part of her cover's responsibilities.

Morse had only seen Whitehall a handful of times, but she had spent enough time undercover in various forms that she was equally as at ease with the head of Hydra as she was with her team of Hydra guards. Still, being asked to his laboratory was an unusual request and Morse didn't know what she might be asked to do.

She knocked resolutely at the door and then straightened into attention as Bakshi opened the door. "Ah, Agent Morse. Doctor Whitehall has been anticipating your arrival." He stepped aside, allowing her to enter.

Morse entered the room with as much confidence as any organization might wish for their heads of security, keeping her poise as she quickly absorbed details of the room and locked them away.

"Yes, Agent. I am in need of your services." Daniel Whitehall stepped out from under piercingly bright pendant lights with a light smile and polite tone. "I have a message that I would have delivered directly to SHIELD. Do you think that could be managed?"

Morse's brow furrowed as she commented, "SHIELD is deep in hiding. I'm not certain where to find them. What medium is the message?"

"It is physical. It must be delivered so they can be sure to find it and be aware of its origins."

Whitehall stepped away to reveal the grotesquely cut open and bloodless corpse of Jemma Simmons, strapped to an operating table.

Thanks to whatever powers that be, Morse managed to ask in a straight tone, "The message, sir?"

"Yes," Whitehall said. "Through whatever means you need, it must strike its mark."

* * *

><p>Once the small jet plane was out of Hydra's immediate territory, Morse landed and approached the little body in the cargo hold. She couldn't in good conscience even reach out to Coulson knowing that Agent Simmons' body was lying bare, disfigured, and thrown in by indifferent guards full of contempt of Simmons' humanity. Morse paused, taking a long moment to look into the young features frozen in a look of pain and terror.<p>

Morse reached down to draw the lids shut, and slowly massaged the face to erase evidence of Simmons' last, painful moments. Morse hadn't truly known Agent Simmons in life, had only known her from seeing her in security footage. But even with her limited knowledge, Morse knew that this expression of Simmons wasn't the woman that had been a brilliant scientist, faithful member of SHIELD, and cheerful influence on her surroundings.

From there, Morse didn't know how much she could mend Agent Simmons' body to restore to Simmons some of her dignity before the entire team saw her. Whitehall was cruel in his treatment, and Morse was certain that any further postmortem examination would only tell them more than they would ever want to know about Simmons' last days. Morse had certainly heard the stories that were whispered over cubicles and desksat Hydra: about Whitehall and his week long torture sessions, cutting victims apart in a despicable semblance of surgery. She had never planned to see its products.

With quivering hands, Morse gently manipulated Simmons, pulling closed the gaping hole in the abdomen and chest, straightening unkiltered limbs, tugging hair in place to hide missing ears. Then she pulled out a simple outfit of black yoga pants and soft, white, cotton shirt and gently clothed the small form. The white shirt enhanced the bloodless color of Simmons' face. The nearly empty duffel was tucked under her head, and a simple navy blanket was draped and tucked in. Bobbi sighed as she murmured, "Hang tight. You'll be home soon."

**A/N No, I didn't feel it was necessary to write about Simmons torturous, horrible death … just the also horrible, heart-rending aftermath. I'm sorry if you wanted torture scenes: I hope the general angst will help cure you're disappointment.**

**Thanks for sticking with me, guys! I have 5 more chapters ready to go, with plenty of team time. I would love some feedback! Are Whitehall and Bakshi too cheesy? Are you bummed that I didn't feel the need to show the torture and horrific demise of Simmons? Let me know!**


	3. Helpless

**A/N I planned to have Morse drop her cover and return to SHIELD, because I thought that her primary mission was ended when Simmons died. This is the same perspective I held when I wrote my drabble, "Stiff." But my buddy, sapphireswimming, made a strong point toward keeping Morse undercover, which caused me to rewrite this scene with Coulson to keep her cover more secure (initially it was just going to be an expanded version of my drabble!). Enjoy, and let me know you're thoughts!**

May opened Coulson's door without knocking. "There's a call for you."

Coulson pinched the bridge of his nose. "May, this isn't really a good time."

"You'll want to take this one," May said seriously, her voice much lower than normal. Coulson looked up, concern causing him to catch her eye for some clue, but May only nodded towards his phone.

Coulson picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

"Agent Coulson?"

The voice was familiar, obviously female, and fully confident and in control, but Coulson recognized that the manner he was addressed indicated that other parties were likely monitoring the call. He answered with the same level of authority and self-assurance, "This is he. And who is this?"

"Hail Hydra," the voice quipped back. "I have something in my possession that you will want returned to you."

He felt his pulse hiccup and then speed up in anticipation. "Could you clarify?" His eyes flickered over to hold May's somber ones.

"Hydra uncovered a traitor in our midst, and in our graciousness, wanted her returned to the organization which claimed her. You will find what is left of your agent at the coordinates I will send you. Wait for the signal, and retrieve your prize."

If anything more was said, he didn't hear it. When he set the phone back in its cradle, he didn't notice. There was no sound. No, that couldn't be it, there was _too_ much sound, too much noise and he couldn't _think_. His eyes felt weighted down, like they were trying to narrow his world to a patch of floor, but he pulled them back up to meet with May's which were preemptively filled with understanding and sadness. She murmured, "Simmons?"

"Dead," he confirmed.

Neither spoke. Feelings ranging from grief to guilt to anger pelted them in the silence, but neither gave voice to it. The shock was too deep. So many had died since Hydra had made itself known; many of the dead had been dear friends. Others who were held in no less esteem had been Hydra agents and had betrayed them. Many others had died in their shared years with SHIELD. Each death and betrayal had been painful.

But this. This was a new pain. Pain from watching an agent grow, seeing her vibrant, full of life and promise, and then ordering her into a mission she should not have been on, without backup, for intel that no longer seemed so important when weighed against the life lost. There were no words. Coulson briefly saw Director Fury with new eyes, before Coulson was once more enveloped in sadness.

Minutes passed before May spoke firmly, "You made a good call, Phil. There was no way to anticipate the outcome."

"No wa- … No way? What other outcome was there?" Coulson demanded incredulous and angry. "We thought that we could send her on her way and, what? Just, just put our fingers in our ears and sing loudly enough and we wouldn't have to think about where she'd end up? What did we expect?" The angry question hung for a moment, before Coulson caught May's eyes again and pleaded softly, querying, "What did we expect?"

"We expected that we could have her back. We expected her to be invincible, because our team has been damaged but not yet broken. We expected to listen to Simmons sharing war stories over a beer. You can't say that you expected any less than bringing Simmons alive and well, back through the Playground doors, because it isn't true."

"She wasn't ready."

"She _was_. You wouldn't have let her go otherwise."

"She wasn't. In peacetime, she never would have gone."

"This isn't peacetime, Phil. You made the best call, and Simmons did good. She stayed in deep cover longer than we once ever would have imagined possible and gathered useful intel on Hydra's projects, on their structure."

Coulson closed his eyes and remembered Simmons' joy at seeing him in her apartment just a few short weeks ago. He had seen how lonely she was just by her reaction to his presence. She fairly glowed with the pleasure of having a friend to speak with openly. And he… well, he had been so clammed up around the team lately, busy being "Director Coulson." But when he had visited with Simmons, he was back to being a superior/friend/mentor. It had been easy and even relaxing to spend time with her. And May was right. As Coulson relived that memory, he could feel again the deep pride he had felt as he looked at Simmons, his bright-faced agent all grown up. She had done good. What happened?

His thoughts strayed to Agent Morse. Why wasn't she there to protect Simmons? That was why she was imbedded in Hydra, to be the one with Simmons' back. The anger flared suddenly. With a long, low breath, he purposefully drove those thoughts away. Morse would contact them again soon with coordinates … for Simmons' body. If she were able, he could have answers then, rather than jumping to conclusions now.

"Morse has her body," he found himself telling May.

May silently watched him for a moment. "Good. She deserves to be laid to rest properly."

"Morse's cover is secure, she's just delivering the message. We'll need to send someone to pick up Simmons."

May nodded slowly. "I'll bring her home."

Silence settled again. Coulson clenched and unclenched his fists, his eyes darting across his desk as he formed a plan for his next task. "We should bring Skye up here. We won't need an audience for this. When she's calm, she can help us break it Fitz. Then we'll tell the rest of the team."

"I'll get Skye." May abruptly vanished through the door, leaving Coulson in what he suddenly perceived as a cold office. The brick walls were imposing and unfeeling. Distant. Mocking. Being left alone with only his thoughts was becoming too much, but he wasn't ready to lay aside the guilt by returning to work. Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he tugged out a copy of the article of Fitzsimmons visit to Sci-ops. The two bright-eyed faces, standing before the next generation of eager SHIELD scientists, thrilling their audience by their mere presence. And now … Fitzsimmons, utterly destroyed: one dead, one damaged. Just another casualty of Hydra. He blinked quickly for a moment: this was the only picture he had of Jemma….

**A/N Ahhhh, Coulson! He's such a father-figure to his agents, and I'm positive that it isn't just their perception, but also how Coulson sees himself. He takes their problems and concerns so to heart – after everything they've gone through, no matter how many more agents that Coulson commands, I feel that no future agents will be able to snuggle their way in the way Skye, Fitz, and Simmons have. In season 2 thus far, Coulson seems to be distancing himself from everyone, but it's too late for him to lose his feelings with those three! I think that Skye, Fitz, and Simmons are to Coulson, as Coulson is to Fury. And no, I haven't forgotten May: May isn't like one of his kids, May is his partner.**

**That being said, I know that losing Simmons would hit him super hard. And don't worry, we'll have more May moments in future chapters as well. Next chapter: Skye.**


	4. Shattered Home

**A/N This is one of my favorite chapters out of the seven I have written: I love Skye-Simmons friendship, and I really believe that Skye would put a lot of energy into hurting other people to get through her own hurt at losing a dear friend. Enjoy!**

May passed Hunter on the way towards the Bus, ignoring his greeting. It wasn't nearly so difficult as when, just a moment before, she had forced herself not to look in the lab to see Fitz puttering around. May had to purposefully push him out of her mind for the moment so she could focus on her initial target.

It hadn't been difficult to locate Skye on the security feeds: the Bus' board room had become Skye's getaway, something like a security blanket that reminded Skye of when the Bus was her safe haven and she had her family around her.

May rarely got nervous. She had seen and done too much, lost too much, to fully feel natural anxiety. She was quick in thought and quicker in action. Now, as she looked at the open doorway and watched Skye peacefully typing on her laptop, May paused. It wasn't nerves, exactly. Whatever emotion was working its way through her seemed to be more in tune with the obliviousness on Skye's face, and the desire to keep that there: a desire to prevent Skye from becoming "the Cavalry" 2.0.

One long, low breath in. May entered.

"Hey May," Skye spoke cheerfully, not taking her eyes off of her screen.

"Skye," May began slowly. Further words were silenced when Skye's head and eyes swung over to May's face in a single, fluid movement.

"Oh, god," Skye breathed out. "What happened?"

"Coulson needs you in his office." May told her in an unusually gentle voice, which seemed to rile Skye more.

"What is it? Something's wrong: is someone hurt?"

May didn't respond, just tilted her head towards the door and walked out, expecting Skye to follow.

As they pushed through Coulson's office doors, May in front of Skye, Skye's voice proceeded as if there had never been a break in their conversation during the long walk from the Bus. "It's Simmons, isn't it? Something went wrong. Is she okay?"

Coulson glanced up from the piece of paper he clutched, and his eyes moved slowly to meet Skye's. In a gentle voice he requested, "Take a seat, Skye."

"No!" Skye shot back, her eyes wide, voice vulnerable. "What happened to Simmons?"

Coulson looked to May for backup. May stepped behind Skye and gently pushed her towards a chair, saying, "Go ahead and sit down."

The gentle urging worked, and Skye defeatedly took a seat. Skye couldn't seem to find her voice, as her wide eyes took in Coulson's demeanor, the slight slump to his posture, the way his eyes couldn't seem to meet hers. She whispered, "Tell me it's not Jemma."

"I received a message today," Coulson began, his voice painfully quiet, "from one of our agents undercover in Hydra. Her cover's still good, and the call was monitored, so we couldn't find out much." Skye was shaking her head mutely, eyes wide, already denying Coulson's words. "All we do know is that … Simmons," Skye let out the faintest of whimpers, "…is dead."

"No," Skye declared. "No. _No!_ She's fine! We just saw her! Her cover was intact, she was _fine_!"

May had at some point positioned herself, still standing, behind Skye without making Skye aware, and now she rested a hand on Skye's shoulder. Warmth from May's clasp offered comfort that Skye wasn't ready for, and she quickly shook May's hand away. The scorned gesture seemed to fuel a sudden burst of anger in Skye.

"What _happened_?" Skye demanded through gritted teeth which served to keep the glints in her eyes from dropping down her cheeks.

"We don't know yet," Coulson responded, sounding worn. "When the coordinates come in, May will collect … Jemma's body. We may get a few more answers. If we're lucky, our agent might leave us some more information at the drop. The best we can assume is that her cover was blown-"

"Of course it was!" Skye cried out, eyes blazing as she stood from her seat. "She's a miserable liar! Everyone knows that! You included! And you sent her in there, unable to lie to save her life, and guess what? That got her killed!"

"Skye-" May warned, bristling.

Coulson waved off May's protection, saying softly, "No, she's right."

"Damn straight, I'm right," Skye growled. "That girl trusted you. She trusted you to keep her safe, to have her back. You let her down. You threw her to the wolves." Coulson bowed his head as he allowed the onslaught to continue. "Was it worth it? Was whatever the _hell_ you got from Hydra worth losing her? Because you may not have pulled the trigger, but I sure as _hell_ hold you responsible!" Skye could feel her entire body quiver with the pent up rage, and she wound up for her parting blow. "I sure hope you can figure out what you are going to tell Fitz happened to his partner. Because if you think he's screwed up now, just wait! And when he breaks, remember that it wasn't Ward this time, but that it was _you._"

"That's _enough_, Skye," May growled, her eyes burning into Skye's.

"No, ya know what, that's fine, protect him! I can't even be here right now!" Skye hollered back. She shoved past May and slammed the door shut.

May's blazing eyes turned on Coulson. "You didn't have to stand for that."

Coulson let out a shaking breath. "I needed it. There wasn't a thing Skye said that wasn't true."

"That's a lie," May said, her face remained stoic besides her glowing eyes, but her voice cracked, thick with emotion. "You are the Director now, and we're at war. The calls you make aren't so cut and dry anymore. Do you think that every call Fury ever made turned out as he hoped? No, he made the best call he could with what he knew, and then he saw it through, no more, no less than what you did here. Not everyone can come home."

"She wasn't a field agent."

"No, she wasn't, Phil. But she was the best option to get eyes inside Hydra. And what you and Skye seem to forget was that Simmons wasn't forced into going: she knew the risks. Jemma knew how to stand up for what was right. She sacrificed herself, and you and Skye throwing around blame mocks her sacrifice."

Coulson fell into a pensive silence and didn't answer. May loudly snorted her derision, turned on her heel, and strode out through the door.

**A/N Next Chapter: May/Skye friendship/bonding! Tell me what'cha think thus far! Feedback helps me write good ;-D**


	5. Family

**A/N A short chapter, but I think it has some really nice feels**

Skye looked away from the ceiling of her bunk to see May silently watching her. Skye brushed away the cooled tears from her cheeks and sat up.

"I hate him right now," Skye admitted quietly. "I hate him for destroying my home. You guys were the first real family I've ever had, the Bus was my first home. And then Ward betrayed us, and hurt Fitz. The Bus was ruined. Coulson pulled away, or pushed us away, I don't know. And then he sent Simmons to her death." Skye laughed ruefully. "Ya know, Simmons was the first girl friend I've ever had. Foster kids are all kinds of crappy 'cuz all of their lives suck, and the girls are all bitches trying to stay in control. Simmons was the first one that was ever _just nice_. I really wanted to keep that." Skye scrubbed at her eyes, catching a few more drops before they dampened her cheek.

"All that stuff I dreamed about, with a family and stuff… it just feels like it was a mirage. That I was just looking too hard for something that was never there. But for a little while, I could have sworn …" two fresh tracks appeared. "I wasn't the only one that saw it? This has gotta be killing you too, right?" May remained silent.

"And what sucks the most is that I trusted him, more than anyone I've ever trusted in my life, and he failed her. He set Simmons up to fall. And we're, what, just supposed to follow blindly until we all end up like Simmons?" Skye paused. She looked straight at May, an angry glint appearing even as another tear slid around the side her mouth.

"You're not going to say anything?"

May narrowed her eyes to inspect Skye. "Who are you really angry at Skye? Because I don't think you're really as mad at him as you think."

Skye held May's eyes for a strong minute. Then her gaze slipped and a sob slipped out. "It just hurts, so bad," Skye whimpered. In a moment May sat next to Skye on the bed. "And I want to be angry, because if I'm angry … I don't have to think that I'm never going to see Jemma again."

May pulled Skye to her and held on tight, letting the guttural sobs and moans slip out of Skye, shaking her body. "I know," May whispered, so quietly it was almost unheard over Skye. "I know."

When the last shake and sound faded, May still held on. Knowing that Skye could now listen, May said softly, "The anger is easier to feel than the pain. But soon Agent Morse will send the coordinates, and I won't be here when Coulson talks to Fitz. Coulson shouldn't be alone for that. I need you to get over this so that you can be the support both of them will need. Can you do that?"

With a soft hiccup, Skye's head nodded slowly in the crook of May's arm. That was enough for now. May sighed and then looked back down at her watch where the coordinates had sat, blinking at her for the last ten minutes. "Skye?" There was no answer, not even the slightest tensing of the still body below. "I'm going now."

May stood, gently pulling Skye off her lap and laying Skye onto her pillow. "I will keep you updated." May hadn't realized the comfort she had been drawing from Skye until May felt Skye's warmth fade. Letting out her own quivering breath, May turned to the door, keeping her mind off of exactly what she would find upon reaching her destination.

**A/N Next Chapter: May brings Simmons home. What did you think of the May/Skye friendship? I really like that they seem to have connected a lot in between seasons one and two. Let me know what you think, and thanks for joining me!**


	6. Take Me Home

May slipped away quietly. She managed to leave the rest of the playground team in the dark, besides alerting Agent Koenig to the current situation. He had made it easy, the death of his own brother fresh enough that he had given May a slight, empathetic nod, saying quietly, "I'm sorry for your loss," before telling her he would go ahead and code her in for take-off. The next minute her jet was in the air, the serenity of flying a stark contrast to May's mission.

The flight was short: only a few hours had passed before her controls alerted her that she should land. May took her time finding a wide, open, and flat field to land in. She snatched up a GPS with the coordinates already in place, and then stepped out of the plane.

May looked around, taking in the scenery. It was a peaceful location in the South of France, the weather was warm and calm. The sun absorbed itself deep into May's dark clothing as if trying to caress some serenity into her. It was a nice spot. Morse had been kind when she brought Jemma here.

May breathed in the air, a light salt-breeze tickling her nose. She focused in on her GPS, following the path to where she would find Jemma. The walk wasn't far, nor was it difficult. It was just as well, because May had come alone and would need to carry Jemma by herself.

Before long the GPS beeped that she was close enough to the location that her target should be in sight. May paused to inspect the landscape. There. A drooping, old, double-pronged plane tree stood out amongst smaller growth, and prominently beneath lay a bump of man-made navy blue. In moments May was upon it.

May knelt beside the cluster of fabric. She slowly drew the Hydra issue blanket back to take in her first look. God. If possible, Jemma looked younger than she had in life. Her face was so pale, not absorbing any of the warmth of the sun, but mirroring the light back resolutely. Never had her face appeared so insipid. Jemma had always been a beautiful girl, but death had taken away the shine from her features. _Just a kid_, May thought, not for the first time.

"It's time to go home," May told her quietly. Reaching into her pack, May began to reconstruct the folded up stretcher. Laying it flat next to Simmons, she tugged Simmons on and gently strapped her in. Her body was in full rigor mortis, so there wasn't much extra movement. The chemistry of death held that horrible saving grace: May didn't need the additional reminder of her tragic burden, hearing Jemma's head bobbing around as she pulled the stretcher back to the plane.

As May tried to close the final buckle around Jemma's torso, she felt something smooth and flat under the blanket. May pushed her hand underneath and drew out an envelope with a short note tucked inside. "Daniel Whitehall's work. Forgive me, I wasn't there. I will save her work." The note was unsigned, but May knew it was left by Morse. May closed her eyes for a moment. Not the answers Coulson had hoped for, but it was something.

After tucking the blanket around Jemma, May turned around and fixed the straps onto her shoulders like a backpack, before walking forward, letting the wheels at the stretcher's base do the hard work.

The trek back seemed to go on and on. Each footfall tugged her shoulders down with the weight of the body she pulled behind. Each step refused to let her forget why she walked the fields in the South of France. Each tug reminded her who she bore back to base.

**A/N Another short chapter, but the next should be a little longer! Next time: Ward! … say whaaat?! ;-)**


	7. Unwanted Answers

**A/N I write angst stories by thinking of the very most painful way that a painful thing can be revealed. Simmons dies horribly. Now what pieces and parts can every character find out about it so that it can hit them as painfully as possible? That's where Ward comes in – I guess it's kind of nice that he finds out about Simmons, because I do think he let the team under his skin, but really, in this chapter, he is a tool to further hurt both Skye and Coulson. With that introduction, please enjoy!**

"Morse's note doesn't say much, but she does say that it is 'Daniel Whitehall's work,'" May reported from the jet's cockpit.

Coulson nodded and responded, his voice holding the same soft, aching quality it had held for the last five hours. "Alright. Bring her home, May."

"Whitehall?" Skye asked, looking at Coulson as he closed the web-chat window on his computer.

"I think Simmons mentioned his name in a recent report," Coulson said, pinching the bridge of his nose in the hopes of stirring a memory. It wasn't easy: he couldn't focus in on any of his and Simmons past conversations for replaying his memories of sharing a friendly beer over her kitchen table or watching her dig into a fish filet sandwich at McDonald's. Vibrant and so very alive. He snapped out of reverie. "He wasn't part of SHIELD."

Skye stood up from where she had leaned against Coulson's desk. "I'll talk to Ward."

Coulson turned to stop Skye, his eyes narrowing in consternation. "What about Fitz?"

Skye paused on the far side of Coulson's desk, crossing her arms defiantly. "I can't deal with telling him right now. I need to _do_ something. I can't just keep sitting and thinking anymore." An odd spark of anger flushed her cheeks as she remembered Ward telling her something similar when Simmons had been dying from the Chitauri infection. Just another moment of perfecting his cover as a deeply invested but flawed specialist, and, as with everything Ward had told them, everything he had done, Skye had believed him, sympathized with him. She quickly shook the feeling off, refusing to rethink her position on talking to Fitz, even after her uncomfortable epiphany.

Coulson's blue eyes pierced into her with a patently sad, disappointed stare. "We can't keep him in the dark. He needs to know."

Skye snorted disdainfully, trying to deflect her discomfort from making what she was aware was a bad call of keeping Fitz in the dark. She said flippantly, "That's rich, coming from the man that has kept _everything_ from him about what Simmons has been doing since she left." Game, set, and match.

Coulson didn't attempt to defend himself and responded calmly, "I just mean that we can't wait until May gets back. It would be so much worse if he were to find out on accident. We need to prepare him."

Skye began walking out of the room again, calling back to Coulson, "Don't worry, _AC_. We've got time before May gets back." Her quiet dig, calling him AC, was a parting stab, reminding Coulson of his and Skye's recent, easy friendship.

"I won't tell the team before I tell Fitz," Coulson responded, a Hail Mary to get Skye to stay and face Fitz.

"Then let them wait." Skye answered indifferently. Under her breath, but loud enough for Coulson to hear, she murmured, "They didn't know her anyway."

* * *

><p>The white screen faded suddenly, startling Ward out of his pacing. Skye stood facing him, shoulders squared, arms crossed, and her face wearing the formerly uncharacteristic blank mask he was now accustomed to seeing on her.<p>

"Skye," Ward greeted, knowing he sounded too pleased at her company, but unable to keep it from seeping out.

Not a feature of Skye changed. "Who is Daniel Whitehall?" she demanded stoically.

Ward snorted in amusement. "I know I don't count for much, but a simple 'Hello' goes a long way."

Skye didn't respond, didn't move.

Ward waited. After the quiet settled and Skye gave no indication of saying more, Ward spoke up. "Whitehall," Ward mused thoughtfully. "I'm surprised that you know about him. What exactly are you looking for on Whitehall?"

Skye didn't comment.

After a moment of letting the silence ring, Ward gave in and began. "Dr. Daniel Whitehall." Ward paused, an eyebrow raised, drawing attention to his acquiescence. "There are secrets surrounding that man that even I don't know." Ward began walking as he talked, the movement stirring his memories and making them more accessible. "He's high up in Hydra. How high up, I don't know. Garrett was in with the top players, not me; he just told me what I needed to know. But Whitehall's right near the top. If you're looking for a real monster, someone that embodies all the dark parts of Hydra, that's him."

Skye's eyes had narrowed in interest against her will. "What sort of dark parts?" Skye demanded.

"You're awfully tense, Skye. I can tell that something's bothering you. Did you want to hear more about your-"

"_No,_" Skye gritted out. "I'm here for information about Daniel Whitehall."

Ward took in her shaking hands, the slight reddish tint and puffed skin around her eyes. He asked in genuine concern, "Is everything okay, Skye? I haven't seen you this way for quite some time. You usually hold it together so well-"

"_Shut_. _Up._" Skye warned. Her entire body had tensed and her hands had balled up tight enough that her nails cut into her palms.

Pay dirt. "Something _is_ wrong," Ward noted, pleased with his own keenness. "Something with the team, nothing else would have you acting like this," Ward mused, studying Skye's face for further clues.

"I'm here for information," Skye fumbled, flustered, her hands making tracks up and down her arms in a motion of self-comfort.

Ward continued probing, a small glint in his eye, enjoying the hunt. "Did Coulson meet his match? There's no shame in losing to Whitehall, he's been around."

Skye's eyes narrowed and met his eyes with anger.

Ward stood still and observed Skye for a minute. He turned and took a few steps toward the side wall, before he asked insidiously, "How's 'The Cavalry'? Panties still in a bunch from getting screwed?"

Skye glowered, but no longer spoke. Ward felt a sudden prick of realization: he'd lost some ground while pursuing this lead. He had been swept up in expressing his hatred of Coulson and May, and now Skye was clamming up, he was pushing her away. With a contrite, "Sorry," Ward turned back to Skye. In the heat of the pursuit, Ward had ended up much closer to his barrier than he normally allowed himself when talking with Skye. Ward knew enough about negotiation to know that when a person feels physically unsafe, their auditory channels shut down. Ward breathed in to refocus his mind and took a few steps back to give Skye enough space to hear him rather than becoming instinctively attuned with his proximity.

Ward centered back on Skye's topic, issuing a sincere warning. "Daniel Whitehall is a bad guy, Skye," Ward said, his brown eyes dripping with earnestness, his eyebrows drawn slightly, serving to highlight his gentle concern. "Don't mess with him. Stay off his radar and out of his way."

Skye lost some of her tension and unconsciously loosed her arms, letting them fall slightly. She drew a little closer to the barrier. Ward realized he must be getting close to the answer she was looking for, because Skye was alert, the mask fading and leaving behind naked fear as she waited. "Why?" she asked.

Ward captured and held Skye's eyes, trying to read more. "There were always rumblings about what Whitehall did to people that got on his bad side. About cutting people open when they were still alive. Experimenting on them while they were awake and aware. There's this one story about a woman who had a full operation, wide awake, that took an entire week."

The sudden pain was like being hit. Skye couldn't help but let the pain in her heart flash through her face, and she quickly turned away hoping that Ward hadn't seen. He had.

"Whitehall has someone, doesn't he? Who does he have?"

The tears welled in Skye's eyes, as images of Jemma strapped down to a table and screaming as she was cut into again and again flooded Skye's brain. How long was she tortured? Did she think help was on its way, wonder why it was taking so long? Or did she suffer knowing that she was completely alone? The pictures in Skye's head caused her to completely forget about Ward and the imagined Simmons' screams were covering Ward's increasingly insistent questions. She wasn't even aware when he paused to think.

In an oddly low voice that sounded nothing but concerned, Ward asked, "Is it Simmons?"

Skye couldn't stop the small sob from escaping her throat. God, she thought she had been ready to face him, to get answers, but somehow she hadn't thought about the content of the answers she sought. And now, here she was, breaking down and helpless in front of the person she last wanted to witness her weakness: Grant freaking Ward.

"Skye," Ward pled quietly, seriously. "I don't know how she got there, but you have to get her out. _No one _should go through that, much less Simmons."

Skye began walking quickly towards the stairs, feeling the full-on meltdown coming, when a voice arrested her.

"Skye," Coulson called, his figure making his way down the staircase.

Ward called out to Coulson sharply, "If Whitehall has Simmons, you _need_ to get her out."

Coulson didn't take more than a moment to read the unfolding situation before striding between Skye and Ward, glowering at Ward with undisguised loathing. "I don't need your comments or suggestions. You've already proven that this team is nothing more than target practice for you."

Ward walked until the barrier buzzed noisily, and then spat out, "I don't care what the hell you think of me right now, Coulson, I'm telling you, _you have to get that girl out of there_!" Ward's teeth ground as he studied Coulson's unmoving face, unable to understand why his words had no effect. Both men held the other's gaze, rage leaping between their locked eyes. Then Ward took a step back in surprise.

"She's dead?" Ward's eyes lost their rage and searched Coulson before trying to see around Coulson's form to catch Skye's eye. "She's dead." He took another step back and then turned, beginning a new round of pacing while rubbing his hairline. "How would Whitehall even have access to her? She's no field agent, after everything that has happened, you would be crazy to take her back into the field." Silence and then a wry chuckle floated from Ward's lips. "Crazy. That sounds about right. So you took Simmons out for a spin, Hydra nabs her, and then tortures the shit out of her." Another weird laugh before he quipped, "Nice work, Coulson. You always have your teams' back."

Coulson's eyes flashed and he spoke coldly, "We're done here." Coulson gently pushed Skye before him and ushered her up the stairs and out of Ward's cell. Still Ward's relentless voice followed them:

"And to think that I felt bad that I accidently hurt Fitz, when here you _killed_ Simmons!"

**A/N Ward gives Skye information that just makes Simmons death worse, and gives Coulson just a little more salt in his wound of "It's all my fault." Good job, Grant Ward! **

**I think I'm going to apologize in advance: for 7 days I have posted a chapter a day of this story. This next chapter may take a little longer, because it's not written yet. I may be more encouraged to write if you let me know what you thought. Did you think Ward's appearance in this fic added or subtracted? And the very likely next chapter: poor, poor Fitz…**


	8. Hello

**A/N It didn't occur to me until after I had written an outline for the chapter, that the idea was just like the Evanescence song, "Hello." Which I love. And have listened to hundreds of times. But long and short: Fitz is finally in the story, and there will be plenty more of him! Thanks for reading, reviewing, and sticking with me!**

"How about an Action Thriller?" Simmons suggested chipperly.

"No," Fitz droned back, pushing his feet off the floor so that his chair spun him in several tight circles.

"A Romantic Comedy?"

"What about my current life makes you think I care to watch a movie where two people fall madly in love?" Fitz shot back angrily.

"Hmm," Simmons murmured sympathetically. "A regular Comedy, then?"

"I don't really feel like watching a movie, Jemma," Fitz said, his defeat showing in the slump of his shoulders, accented even more by his baggy sweater and unkempt beard.

"I'm just trying to suggest something amusing to do with your time," Simmons said gently. "It's not healthy to keep dwelling on Coulson's decision to place Mack over the cloaking project. We should view this as an opportunity to create some new interests."

Fitz glared at her. "I don't want new interests."

"It's a bad situation, but you'll make the best of it," Simmons enthused as she reached over to squeeze his shoulder.

"Fitz?" Fitz spun around in his chair to find Skye entering his lab.

"Hello, Skye," "Hi, Skye," Fitzsimmons greeted in tandem.

"Oh, Skye, you don't look well," Simmons commented with concern.

"You look a little peaked," Fitz added.

Skye didn't respond, just gave an acknowledging half smile. "Coulson will be here in a moment. Mind if I sit down?"

Fitz nodded in acquiescence, and then asked warily, "Coulson is coming here? Why?"

Skye said quietly, "I'd rather wait for him."

"He's taking an … _another_ project away, isn't he?" Fitz demanded, stuttering in his frustration.

"Fitz, don't attack Skye," Simmons admonished. "She hasn't anything to do with it. And look, she looks so unwell. Tea, Skye?"

Fitz huffed before giving in to Simmons prodding. "Aye, want a cuppa?"

Skye shook her head. "I'm fine, thanks."

"Poor Skye, you need some down time too. Maybe Skye would watch a Romantic Comedy?" Jemma asked innocently.

"SHIELD agents don't watch Romantic Comedies," Fitz groused under his breath. Skye flicked him an odd look but said nothing because just then the lab doors opened and Coulson strode into the room.

"Fitz," Coulson greeted gently. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," "A little down, sir," Fitzsimmons chorused. Fitz was upset by Simmons' honesty, and hoped Skye and Coulson didn't take note. Indicating his displeasure, Fitz purposefully looked at Coulson without a glance towards Simmons.

"Good," Coulson nodded, but his face didn't denote any pleasure at the news. "That's good."

"What can I do for you, sir?" Fitz asked after the silence lasted a beat too long.

"Nothing," Coulson said. Fitz felt cut to the quick. Of course, why would Coulson need anything from a brain-damaged, useless engineer? Fitz looked away, no longer able to meet Coulson's eyes.

Coulson continued. "I came to tell you something." A pause. "I haven't been entirely upfront with you about Simmons' whereabouts. I told you that she didn't just leave us and SHIELD, but that she was on a mission that was very important."

Fitz now raised his eyes to Coulson and then glanced back at Simmons, allowing himself to see again that "his" Simmons was just a phantom of his imagination. Even though he knew the truth, it always hurt to remember that it wasn't truly Simmons who worked by him in the lab or bantered over a meal. She made him feel better, more like himself.

Coulson had fallen silent, gathering courage and steadying his voice to continue. "Simmons was undercover in Hydra. She was gathering intel on their projects, getting a feel for their players."

"You keep saying 'was,'" Fitz perceived, casual curiosity in his voice and seeming to ignore the part where his partner was undercover in Hydra. "Is she back?"

Fitz caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned to watch Skye stand up and walk away from him, facing the lab's wall. He drew his eyes back to Coulson.

"Simmons … Jemma's cover was blown. She didn't make it, Fitz." Coulson choked out quietly, voice shaking, but eyes steady, willing Fitz to read the truth in them.

"That's ridiculous." Fitz turned his eyes to watch Simmons dismiss Coulson. Her voice rose as she continued. "I'm just fine, Fitz! I don't know what he's saying."

Fitz nodded, comforted by his friend's reassurance. "Jemma's fine, sir. She would never go undercover, never mind in Hydra: she's a bloody horrible liar. You'd have to be mad to send her."

"Well, excuse me," Simmons quipped. "You needn't have said all _that_."

"Fitz, listen to me," Coulson said urgently. "I'm telling you the truth. Simmons was killed during her mission in Hydra. May's on her way back to the Playground with her body."

Fitz could hear a hiccupy cry coming from Skye's form, still standing with her back to him. Simmons had come over to stand partially in front of Fitz, forming a small barrier between him and Coulson. This entire thing was beginning to upset Fitz, and it seemed like it was upsetting Simmons too, which was something Fitz just couldn't abide.

"There is no body, because she's _fine_!" Fitz spat. "What a horribly sick thing to say!"

"Fitz, he's telling the truth!" Skye cried out, turning back so that Fitz could see her reddened eyes and the tears streaming down her cheeks. "I didn't want to believe it either, but Fitz, Simmons is _dead_!"

"Liar!" Simmons hollered even as Fitz stood up and yelled, "She's _FINE_! Jemma's _fine!_ This is a bloody sick joke, and I need you to _get the hell _out of our_ bloody lab!_" As he said it, Fitz grabbed his chair, and sent it spinning into the table, knocking beakers and papers to the floor.

Coulson stood up calmly and said, "Fitz, I am so very sorry."

"_OUT!_" Fitz screamed. Coulson quickly caught Skye by the arm and urged her out before him, closing the door behind them.

Fitz then sensed Jemma's presence, as she came and hugged him from behind. "Everything's all right," she said softly. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

**A/N If you don't know the song, go listen to "Hello" on Youtube, and ****_tell_****_me,_**** that it wasn't written for an occasion such as this!**


	9. Fly Away

**A/N Welcome back! Thank you to those who reviewed: you keep me going!**

"Are you okay?"

Skye looked up from her laptop to see Trip leaning on the wall of the hanger. She shifted her weight enough to pull her legs out straight from where they had been curled under her. She managed to keep her laptop balanced as she moved, and in the same swift movement, she minimized her searches on the screen. Skye closed her eyes and tried to take the cross sound out of her voice, but she wasn't entirely successful: "No."

Trip took the response as an invitation and moved along the wall Skye was leaned against, again settling his weight on the wall. "Me neither," he admitted softly.

Skye hadn't been there when Coulson had informed the rest of the team. After their encounter with Fitz, Skye was just done with the entire "bearer of bad news" thing. She had managed to lay aside her guilty feelings at leaving Coulson to deal with it by himself: she told herself that at the end of the day, that was his job. So she had hidden away in the hanger, both waiting for May's arrival and the proof that her grief was founded, while doing her best to forget her pain by trying to find more about the bastard that was responsible.

The silence was palpable. Skye felt no need to talk anymore. She and Trip had become close since Ward and Hydra, but right now he just felt like an outsider. He didn't have all the memories of the Bus and the way things were, the way Skye desperately longed for still. Each tragedy tore her further from that time, and each team member that was changed, turned, killed, was like reopening and intensifying an unhealed wound.

Trip spoke softly, "She fought for you when you were dying."

Skye desperately didn't want to have a conversation about Jemma with Trip right now, but curiosity tugged at her. She looked up at Trip, towering above her. Tripp slid down to sit beside Skye and continued. "I know this is a rough time to say it, but while it's in my mind, I thought you should know. She fought for you, hard." Trip paused and then cracked a smile. "I hate to admit it, but I used your near-death experience to hit on her."

"Well, you didn't really know me, so I guess you're excused," Skye responded, the barest hint of a smile brushing her lips. Her voice cracked as she spoke, a combination of her previous overuse, yelling at Coulson and sobbing, and recent underuse, hiding in silence. All trace of her smile left, and Skye said softly, "You can say her name, you know."

Trip accepted with a broad nod. "Sure. I just didn't know … everyone's different." He took a breath and then said. "Jemma … was pretty special. I was disappointed when I thought she'd ditched SHIELD: after everything I'd seen of her, I was so sure she was different. I wasn't even that freaked when Coulson said she was imbedded in Hydra, it just kinda made sense. I didn't really think about … this."

Skye hmmed, not ready to comment any further. Jemma had been a friend, a really good friend. Skye wasn't sure she was ready to trade stories when the hurt was still so fresh. Apparently Trip didn't feel the same way.

"When Hydra took over, I was with Jemma," Trip began again. Of course, Skye remembered that. The day of Hydra's takeover was seared into her memory, and she recalled her panic when they realized that Victoria Hand, the presumed Hydra agent, had Trip and Simmons. "We were gonna die, we were so sure. She was ready to fight _me_, when she thought _I_ was Hydra." He chuckled. "Jemma Simmons had pluck. When Hand asked if we were gonna pledge Hydra, Simmons was practically shaking, but said, loud and proud, that we would never join Hydra. Pure spunk. Little scientist, big ol' brain, and balls of steel."

Skye couldn't help the smile that flitted across her face, that was quickly replaced by the stab of loss. Skye swiped away a forming tear, and said, "You forgot her massive heart."

Trip hmmed in agreement. "Big ass heart."

Silence settled again, but it only gave Skye's heart the chance to ache. Within the silence there was no escape from the memories of hanging out with Fitz and Simmons in the lab, sharing team dinners. Watching Jemma use her body as a grenade shield. There was no way Jemma knew that it was just a "night-night" grenade when she had clutched the other agent against her – protecting her friends had come as naturally to Jemma as breathing. All that was left was the grief that all of those times were over, that Jemma's gentle face and cheerful manner would never encourage Skye again. "Does it get easier?" Skye asked somberly.

Trip didn't answer for a long moment. Skye realized maybe she had touched on something that was still too much for Tripp to think about. He'd lost his entire team to Garrett's hands and was none the wiser, continuing to trust Garrett until Hydra was revealed. Skye was ready to tell him to forget it, when he began. "It'll always be there. That loss, it's a part of you now." He fell silent for a moment and continued. "You're gonna wanna stop. You can't imagine wanting to do anything other than wallow in the hurt. But if you do that, then you've just wasted two lives 'stead a one. When you start moving again, you're gonna want to pretend they never existed, and that'll work for awhile. But no matter how far you run, when it gets quiet enough, they'll be right back, waiting for you to remember."

"I'm sorry," Skye whispered.

Trip caught her eye and cracked a raw smile. "Me too."

"So you hit on Simmons?" Skye quipped gently.

Trip caught the subject change. "I did indeed. I was ready to be Mr. Antoine Simmons," he joked.

"What?" Skye exclaimed, giving him a little shove.

"What can I say? I have a thing for tiny, self-assured nerds," Trip said, his face completely straight besides the corner of his lip twitching.

Skye scrunched up her nose. "Is that actually a thing? Because that's really specific and kind of weird." At Trip's smug expression, Skye let out a barking laugh.

"That's a sound worth hearing," Coulson's voice floated over Skye and Trip, and they looked over to see Coulson coming through the hanger doors. Instantly Skye sobered and her eyes darted back to her computer.

Trip stood up, but didn't leave his position next to Skye. "Sir? Is there anything you need?"

"No Trip, you're fine there." Coulson walked closer and then stopped. "May's coming in as we speak. I came down to open the hanger doors."

"I've got it, Sir," Trip said quickly, and he vanished towards the control booth.

Suddenly the moment became very real: Skye was not sure that she could do this. It felt like she couldn't breathe, like she was being strapped into a rollercoaster that she did not want to ride, and now there was no way to escape. Coulson stood stoically, and purposefully out of Skye's way. Things were not good between them right now. Skye wanted to call out for help, but she couldn't find the words. The doors opened. The movement startled a reaction out of Skye, and she leapt to her feet, her laptop crashing to the ground.

Coulson turned toward Skye with concern, but if he was speaking, Skye couldn't understand him. The world was too bright, sounds were distant, and she felt nauseous. Was she moving? It felt like she was moving – where were her legs? She was floating, her legs were gone. When had those sirens begun? Everything was so loud.

Skye felt pressure on her arm. She began to feel the floor below her. Then the colors came back into focus. Sound resumed, the distorted noises filtering away until she could hear Coulson. "Just breathe, Skye. Good, that was good, now take another one." Her eyes widened as she sucked in breath after breath. "Slower, Skye. That's good." Her eyes darted down to see his hands on her forearms, before floating back up to see the concern dripping from his gaze. "Are you back," he asked softly?

Skye took in another long, low breath. "Yeah. Yeah, I am. Sorry."

"It's okay," Coulson said firmly, gently. He pulled away his hands, but didn't back away from her. "You don't need to be here. Maybe you should take a breather in your bunk."

Skye was shaking her head no before she could form words. "No. I need to be here for her. She died alone. I'm not going to leave her alone again."

Coulson studied Skye for a moment and then let it go when May's jet drove into the hanger. The motors drowned out all possibility of conversation. Their loud hum died, and the doors closed shut ponderously coming into contact with the ground and again shuttering the hanger with only florescent lights.

Skye and Coulson didn't move, waiting. The back hatch of the jet opened and May stepped out looking around until she noticed her team members. She strode up to Coulson and only spoke once she reached him so that she could speak quietly. "We'll need a stretcher, Phil."

"Can I see her?" Skye asked in a whisper. May nodded, and gestured to the jet's ramp. Skye met May's gaze with terror. May laid a gentle hand on Skye's arm, and then walked to the back of the hanger with Coulson to retrieve the stretcher.

Skye walked slowly, her heart pounding. What was she so scared of? Jemma was dead, Skye had known for hours. Seeing Simmons shouldn't make a difference.

But it would. The next moments would solidify what Skye already knew in her heart. And she was terrified.

The ramp echoed terribly with every step Skye took. Skye's gaze couldn't seem to focus in front of her, darting from the floor to the walls. One step. Two. And there she was. Oh god.

Skye knelt down next to her. Oh, Jemma. What had they done? Every part of Jemma's appearance was that of Skye's friend. Her auburn hair, now cut into stylish, lightly curled locks that draped across her shoulders. The full eyebrows which had seemed to enhance her confused expressions in life. The pale skin was now paler than it had ever been. Her eyes were shut, for all purposes making Jemma look lost in innocent sleep.

Skye reached out, unaware that she meant to wake Simmons until her hands gripped Simmons' arm through the blanket. Skye fell back with a yelp of horror – her arm. The bones in Simmons' arm had to absolutely be in pieces. There was no firmness, to it: when Skye gripped it, she could feel the small pieces shift under the pressure.

Skye stumbled back and threw up on the ground. She hadn't even noticed that she was crying until nothing more came up and she sat back down to find her face wet.

May and Coulson weren't back yet. Skye, with a sudden burst of determination, anger, and horror, crawled back to Jemma's side and wildly unbuckled the straps that kept Jemma held to the travel stretcher. With a quick motion and no more thought, Skye pulled the blanket completely off of Simmons. Skye then stood studying the little form before her. With everything in her, Skye held herself together, refusing to get sick again.

The white shirt had absorbed red blotches in neat, bold lines across Simmons' torso. Each arm and leg had slight wobbles in them, no long smooth and strong: Skye was now aware what that indicated. Skye resolutely pulled up Simmons' shirt and suddenly wished she hadn't. Simmons was absolutely pulled apart: the lines of red on her shirt had been pathetic imitations of the gaping holes that allowed Skye to see completely into Simmons. Gory, sliced apart organs were easy to pick out splayed about in the deep holes in Simmons' gut.

Skye stumbled and fell back to the ground, knocking Simmons' hair away as she fell. Where two perfect, earringed little ears should have been were just two bloodied blank spaces.

This was too much. This couldn't be real, this was too sick to be anything but a horrible nightmare. God, how Skye needed to wake up. The world began graying, turning and making her legs unsteady. She was gasping for air, tears streaming down her cheeks, choked sobs cracking out of her body. Skye felt a strong set of arms grasp her and pull her somewhere. Skye couldn't hold on any more: she allowed herself to drift away.

**A/N I suck. That's all I can say. I feel like such a jerk right now. Regardless, I hope you enjoyed! I will still be updating, but as I said before, probably at a slower pace than I began! Thanks for sticking with me, and the more reviews I get, the more encouraged I feel to write more! Hint hint!**


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